


A Magic Menagrie

by Illubuu



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Campfire stories, Found Family, Gen, Team Bonding, also that cool scribe guy, over that damn tadpole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:42:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illubuu/pseuds/Illubuu
Summary: Barthen was a veteran turned sailor. Ingrid was a traveller of lost lands. Mintly was just trying to find her lost pair of mittens. Unfortunately, some Squids had different plans and tossed them all together (with a few other unfortunate souls) for better or for worse.With mind-hungry tadpoles being the only thing this group has in common, they're in for a wild ride as they search for a cure for their very unique ailment.And maybe mind control a few goblins along the way.
Kudos: 7





	1. Hope, Hearsay, and One Too Many Harpies

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. I didn't know there would be harpies on the shore of the Grove. I didn't mean to mess up my friend's attempt to trade 1000 gold worth of stuff. I'm SORRY. (At least we won tho)

"Four harpies!"

"Yes, Barthen, four harpies."

"Four! We nearly died!"

Mintly huffed softly. She kicked a rock over the edge of the cliff that she, Barthen, and Ingrid were now huddled atop. "What would you have rather me done? Leave the kid to die?"

"I would have preferred you come to  _ get me _ before deciding to take in  _ four harpies." _

"I didn't know there were going to be harpies!"

"They're huge bird women! I could hear their song as soon as I stepped on the dirt path! How did you not know?"

"I thought maybe it was someone performing some music or something."

Barthen pinched the bridge of his nose. "You’re a wizard. You didn't feel the magic?"

Mintly pursed her lips. She  _ had _ felt it. She had registered it as some magical lure or hypnosis spell just moments before it had ensnared her. She'd only just broken out of it as she'd reached the water and saw the young Tiefling boy. But Mintly wasn't about to admit to that. So she crossed her arms. "That only made me want to investigate more."

"Mintly..." Barthen started. He put his hands out in front of him, moving them as he spoke for emphasis. "You. Need. To. Be. More. Careful."

"I know."

"You are running around in a robe and wielding a stick."

"A staff."

"You are not equipped to get hit. At all."

"I know, Barthen."

Ingrid was laid back in the grass staring up at the sky. She didn't move as she spoke. "Cut her some slack, Bart. We went together."

“And that made a whole hell of a lotta difference, didn’t it?”

Now it was Ingrid’s turn to huff. “Look, hitting moving targets - flying targets - isn’t that easy. I didn’t see you landing all your hits either.”

Barthen gently lowered himself to the ground. He wasn’t that old, but perhaps it was some mind over matter that made his joints ache as he settled into the grass. He let his gaze drift over the cliff edge towards the sea, squinting against the shimmering sun on the waves. That view never quite got old.

“And, to our credit,” Ingrid continued, “we did quite well.”

“We got lucky,” Barthen replied, perhaps a little too short. 

Ingrid caught the inflection and didn’t reply, opting instead to cover her eyes with her hands. She massaged her temples, trying to ignore the creeping thought that there was a vicious leech feeding on her brains. She tried not to imagine its face. Or its teeth.

Mintly was the only one standing now, arms still across her chest. She tapped her fingers incessantly, wound so tight she could feel the tension in every muscle. She wanted to move, needed to move. Being still so long had her imagining things. Imagining the worm crawling about in her skull, knocking things loose. She reached a hand up to her neck.

Barthen was still looking out to the water. He refused to acknowledge the knot in his gut. He wasn't much of a dweller - at least, that's how he liked to think of himself - so he didn't let himself fall into the 'what ifs'. He was okay now. He was alive and himself. And he needed to find a cure.

There was a moment’s pause between the three as they sat there in the sunlight. It’d only been hours since they’d fallen from an illithid ship, far from where they’d all started and far from where they all wanted to be. None of the reality had quite settled in yet, and each of their minds swam, a slurry of confusion and concern.

“Where did everyone else run off to?” Ingrid asked, unmoving. The silence was starting to wear on her.

Barthen shrugged. “Shadowheart said she had something to do up near the market. Gods know what. Gale was going to go sniffing around the stalls. Astarion... I don’t know. He wanders.”

“Well, we ought to go wander,” Mintly said. “Or something. I’m going to burn if we stay here any longer.”

Ingrid sat up, adjusting her ponytail. “You can get sunburns?”

“Yes.”

“Put that on the list of Things Ingrid Never Considered.” Ingrid hoisted herself to her feet, brushing grass and dirt clippings from her clothing. She patted her sides, ensuring her blades were neatly tucked to her waist. “Do you turn a darker green?”

“An awful brown, actually. I look like I’m covered in mud.”

Ingrid chuckled. “On second thought, let’s stay here. I’d like to see this.”

“Hush.” Mintly reached over and gently whapped Ingrid on the arm. She turned back to Barthen, who’d just only gotten to his feet. “Maybe Lae’zel has found us a camping spot and we can start thinking about food.”

“I’d be surprised if she comes back,” Barthen replied. “I must be honest, I don’t much trust she has all of our best interests in mind.”

Mintly shrugged. “I just figured the gith were like that. Being so far removed and all.”

“Hey now,” Ingrid said. “Us drow aren’t exactly the most cosmopolitan either, but you don’t see me turning my nose up at you.”

“Alright, but you still live on the same plane of existence as everyone else. I doubt Lae’zel has seen much of anyone outside of the gith in centuries.”

Barthen stretched his arms above his head, hearing his shoulders crack and pop. He started down the path towards the stairs to the upper level, casting a second’s glance behind him to ensure the ladies were following him before speaking. “Lae’zel knows more than all of us what this tadpole means, the extent of the danger we’re in. And because of that, I think she’s less likely to take risks. A runny nose and she’d surely split us open at first chance.”

“She didn’t try to kill us on the ship,” Ingrid said. “Just bossed us around.”

No, Barthen thought, she hadn’t. He knew all too well the look of a soldier, the intensity behind their eyes. Perhaps that’s why he was so wary of her - he knew what soldiers were capable of, especially desperate ones. A twinge of pity struck him and he cleared his throat. “More than we can say for Astarion.”

Ingrid laughed. “I guess it was lucky he tackled Mintly of all people. Her solid horns clocked him good.”

“And hopefully knocked some sense into him,” Barthen added sourly. 

“I think having a big group is good,” Mintly said. “We’re all in the same boat. The more minds to help puzzle this out, the more likely we are to find a solution. And,” she gave Barthen a lopsided grin, “the more likely we are to survive harpy fights!”

Barthen just shook his head, continuing up the path.

The grove smelled of lilac and brine and, near the ritual site, hot metal. Heavily concentrated magic was never a pleasant aroma, and with the amount of it being channeled by the druids of the grove, it was a wonder the smell alone didn’t keep the goblins at bay. Huge wisps of green tendrils reached for the sky, pulled and pushed by the sea breeze. 

Ingrid wanted to reach out and touch it. As they passed the chanting druids, she let a hand drift out towards the swirling magic, feeling the warm essence on her fingertips. It was quite unlike any magic she’d ever experienced. Was she in any other situation but the one she was in, she might have stayed and conversed with the druids a while. 

Mintly reached the steps first, taking them two by two. She wasn’t even sure where they were headed. She just wanted to keep moving. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she nearly ran directly into Wyll, only missing him by an inch and by stumbling back into a wall.

“Just who I was looking for!” Wyll chuckled. He reached out a hand to Mintly, steadying her on her feet. “I’ve got some good news, which I’m sure all of us could use a little of.”

Barthen nodded. “Is it too much to hope you’ve found a cure?”

“Not entirely.” Wyll grinned. “I’ve got a lead.”

“Is it a good one?” Ingrid asked. She stepped closer. "Better than 'enjoy your last few days while you can'?"

“I hope so. One of the refugees heard word of a wizard north of here, in the mountains. She’s apparently some kind of prodigy, a living myth. Gale didn’t seem all that convinced, but I figured it’s worth checking out.” Wyll put his hands out nonchalantly. “Worst comes to worst we explode into squiddy monsters. And we're already in that situation.”

Mintly grimaced. “How far north?”

“Not too far. You heard of the Risen Road? It’s about a half-a-day’s walk. We can set out early in the morning and be there by midday.”

Barthen nodded along, finding he was letting himself get more hopeful than he had planned. “Just because this woman is magical doesn’t mean she knows how to cure tadpoles.”

“That’s very true, Barty, but-” Wyll held up a single finger, “I have it on good confidence that this woman specializes in medicine. Real old world type stuff. Wisdom lost to the ages and all that. I think it’s worth a look.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Barthen said. “Have you told the others?”

“Like I said, Gale was iffy, but I think that’s just his pride talking. Shadowheart was her usual skeptical self. And I haven’t seen Astarion or Lae’zel. I’m sure they’ll meet us up in camp. We can make a solid plan there with everyone.”

Ingrid tilted her head. “We have a camp?”

“Yeah, I just came from there. Lae’zel is surprisingly resourceful.”

“And here we were just lazing about!” Ingrid leapt ahead of Wyll and turned back, hands on her hips. She hadn’t been camping since she was a child and the happy memories of marshmallow bombs and sparkler pops came flooding back, shoving any thoughts of tadpoles and mind flayers to the wayside. “Well, come on then! I’m getting hungry and I’m sure none of you have ever had _krzibz_ _shi_ and I make the best!” And with a flourish, she was off.

Mintly looked to Barthen, then to Wyll, then back again. “Kribbish did she say?”

Wyll laughed. “I never said where camp was, where is she going?”

As if hearing them, Ingrid stopped in her tracks, far ahead. She turned to them and waved, shouting something none of them could hear.

“Well, we’ll never find out what kribbish is just standing here," Barthen said. He started off towards Ingrid, feeling Wyll fall into step beside him. His stomach grumbled. What he’d give for a burger.

Mintly brought up the rear, careful not to step on Barthen’s heels... or run into anyone else. She gave a few small waves to the tieflings they passed, keeping a tight grip on her staff. 

Though none of them said it, a small glimmer of hope had trickled into their minds. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. There was a lightness to the air now. A bounce in their steps where there hadn’t been before. Even the conversations had turned from doom and gloom to something more... normal. Ingrid pointing out the colored birds that watched them from the trees, or Barthen recalling a story from his days aboard ships. 

Wyll was in the middle of a tale about felling a cockatrice when they all finally made it to camp.

“...and you would not  _ believe _ the weight of this thing! When it slammed me into that brick wall it was like the force of forty men on my chest!” Wyll turned so he was walking backwards. “I still think that lady I met on the road who told me to carry my blade on my leg rather than my hip was an angel. Had I not been able to reach that blade, I likely wouldn’t be here now.”

"And what an awful tragedy that would've been, hmm?" Astarion was leaned against a fallen log, feet near the fire. "You would be dearly missed, I'm sure."

Barthen bristled. He made a point to sit furthest from Astarion around the fire when he chose his spot. He turned back to Wyll. "I can't imagine a beast like a cockatrice would be killed by just a small blade?"

"Hit even a dragon in the right spot and it'll go down. It's just knowing that spot that's the trouble." Wyll settled down beside Barthen. "Not that I've fought dragons. Wyverns are close enough, right?"

"No," Lae'zel answered. She was sat across camp, far from the fire and everyone else. Her sword was slung across her lap. She was running a rag across the blade. "A foolish mindset."

"Yes, because all of us have had close encounters with the reptile beasts to have such a knowledge of them," Shadowheart snapped. "Forgive us for being so ignorant."

Lae'zel snorted, giving Shadowheart a twisted grin. "I would much rather see you burn."

"The feeling is mutual."

Barthen was glad for his beard in that moment, hiding his smile. There was some truth to Mintly's statement about having a group, but this gaggle was held together with fishing line and fear, nothing more. It was ridiculous to imagine they'd be able to keep together. He gave it two weeks before they'd all be split off on their own. Assuming they still hadn't found a cure by then. Barthen's smile faded - that wasn't a pleasant thought.

Ingrid appeared then, and plopped a large wicker basket in front of the fire. She tossed the lid into the grass and pulled out a flat pan and a bag of small, green jellies. "Okay, so I had to improvise a little. Surface food and Underdark food are worlds away, but I think I can make do. Can anyone here cook?"

"I can." Mintly raised her hand. 

"Good, go get me some water." Ingrid pulled a pot from the basket and pressed it to Mintly's chest. "And try not to get any algae in it. Unless you all  _ like _ algae."

Astarion made a face. "If there is algae I will personally vomit on all of you."

Mintly took the pot and started towards the small stream that bubbled into a nearby pond. The water was clear and fresh and she suddenly found herself feeling terribly homesick. Thoughts of her parents, of their little cottage in the woods, made her heart ache. She crouched by the edge, tipping the pot into the water and letting the current fill it. A shadow moved at the corner of her eye and she saw the Scribe, hands tucked neatly behind his back, staring at his own reflection.

She decided against disturbing him. Lifting the pot - and somehow getting water all over the front of her robe - Mintly returned to the group. It smelled like warm butter and something savory.

Ingrid quickly took the pot, setting it near the fire to boil, continuing her story that Mintly had just walked in on. "And secondly, Barthen, my patron is a woman."

"I don't quite see how that changes anything."

Ingrid puffed out her cheeks. She grabbed a handful of the frogs legs she'd bartered off a Halfling man in the Grove and tossed them in the pan. "It changes everything!"

Gale, who'd just wandered out from his tent, threw his hands up in a stretch. "Whatever that is, it smells divine!"

"It's barely been cooking a minute," Astarion said.

"Thank you, Gale," Ingrid replied. She turned to give Astarion a look, but his attention was turned down to his boots. She kept staring - intending to wait for him to look up - and absently grabbed at the spoon she'd left inside the pan, to keep the onions and frog legs from burning. Only after she felt white hot fire on her fingertips did she realize how hot it was. She yelped, watching as the spoon dropped into the campfire below. "Fuck."

Shadowheart chuckled softly. "Perhaps you shouldn't be leaving metal utensils in hot pans."

Ingrid sighed, watching the edges of the spoon start to glow orange. She could always use a stick, but somehow she thought that might upset some of the group. Namely Astarion. Ingrid contemplated reaching in and trying to toss it out of the fire when she saw another hand reach in first.

Mintly grabbed the spoon carefully from inside the coals and dripped it into the pot of water not yet boiling. It hissed and spit for a second before she removed it and breathed a slow Frost spell atop it. She handed it over to Ingrid. "Devilspawn have their advantages."

"Reaching your hand directly into a campfire to grab a red hot metal spoon," Barthen said, laughing. "Now the harpies make more sense."

Mintly puffed out her cheeks, but couldn't help her smile. "Two different instances, Barthen."

Wyll leaned forwards. "Harpies? What harpies?"

Ingrid, Barthen, and Mintly each shared an second's glance before falling into a fit of giggles, Ingrid nearly dropping her spoon into the fire again.

"Whatever he says," Mintly said, pointing an accusatory finger in Barthen's direction, "it's a lie. Blasphemy."

Ingrid nodded quickly in agreement. "He's the one who stumbled into their cave-"

"No! No!" Barthen said loudly between chuckles. He pushed himself to his feet, holding his hands flat out by his sides in an effort to get everyone to quiet. He'd never been good at telling stories sitting down. "It started when those two walked right into a harpy's nest. There were four harpies!" 

Wyll leaned even farther forwards, enraptured. "Four?"

"I didn't know they grouped in such high numbers..." Gale said absently.

"They do, let me tell you." Barthen gestured about himself as he spoke, a habit he'd picked up from the sailors. He found himself smiling. Everyone's eyes were on him and he was reminded of the religious sermons he'd gone to as a child. Unbeknownst to him, he stood a little straighter, projected his voice a little louder, mimicking exactly the stance those preachers had. "It all started when I heard a Shatter spell from halfway across the Grove. I never would've guessed it would be those two. Goblins, I assumed..."

Back by the creek, the Scribe was still staring out at the water, listening. He hadn't moved from his spot since Mintly had seen him. Moving was a bit of a hassle for him, having been laid in a sarcophagus for ages, and it was easier for him to think when he didn't have to worry about where his next footfall would be. He readjusted his hands, moving them out in front of him, and materializing a pen and journal. They were nearly as old as he was, but magic had kept them preserved - just as it had done for him.

He wrote slowly, his elegant script slowly filling the page. It had been a while since he'd been charged with recording anything, but it felt good to be back in the swing of something familiar. Though his body had aged, his mind swirled with the well-known excitement of a story just beginning.

_ "Four harpies!"  _ His page read.

_ "Yes, Barthen, four harpies." _


	2. Silly Gnolls, Trix Are For Kids

The Risen Road was not a forgiving landscape. Or a particularly welcoming one. It seemed in Wyll’s description of the place, he’d neglected to mention the run down bridges, dead end cliffs and - most importantly - the gnolls that were in the process of ravaging what remained of a trader caravan.

"Uglier than I remember," Wyll said. He stood at the top of the path, hand resting on the hilt of his blade. "And smellier, too."

Ingrid stood on her tippy toes, arching her neck to see the mess at the bottom of the road. She could smell the blood from where she was, and could see the rocks stained red, but couldn't quite make out the beasts themselves. "I don't think I've ever met a gnoll."

"Me neither," Mintly replied. She tried to keep from staring at the bodies. There was little any of them could do to help now.

Barthen was beside Wyll, brow furrowed in thought. The destruction of the trader wagons made the already narrow path a tighter fit. They wouldn't be sneaking around this pack, if they were even able to keep their footing. "You don't really 'meet' gnolls."

"I don't know if I even want to," Ingrid continued. "Wyll's right, they're pretty ugly."

Mintly chuckled. "I'm sure they'd think the same of you."

"Don't be ridiculous. They'd love me."

"They'd love to eat you, sure."

"I'm as charming as they come."

"Well, why don't you go down and see?"

"Please don't," Barthen sighed.

Lae'zel loudly stomped her foot, sneering. "We shouldn't be wasting time. We either fight them or we don't. We need to keep moving."

Shadowheart nodded. "For once I am in agreement with her."

"I don't know how wise fighting them would be," Gale said, twirling his staff in his hands. "We might attract the whole brood."

Lae'zel hissed. "Let them come."

"We'll go up and around. Follow the path to the top," Barthen said. He had no desire to invite a herd of gnolls to an impromptu buffet of adventures stupid enough to take them on. "I figure we should avoid fights where we can. Save our strength for when we have no choice."

Lae'zel snorted. "A weak man's words."

Mintly, on the other hand, was glad to be avoiding the bulk of the carnage. She tapped Ingrid on the shoulder. "Race you to the top!"

"You're on!"

Astarion sighed dramatically, wisping his hand out to the side. "What are we, children?"

"Apparently," Barthen said, though he couldn't help the smile that crawled onto his lips as he started up the path himself.

Mintly took off without a second glance behind her. The Risen Road was certainly risen - her legs started to ache as the incline grew more steep. In her rush she also discovered that her robes were far more restricting than she'd imagined. Her toes kept catching on the front as she dashed up the uneven road. She could hear Ingrid behind her, gaining ground. She turned, seeing Ingrid hot on her heels. "No fair!"

"You got a head start!" Ingrid shouted. Her boots slipped on a damp patch of grass. When was the last time she'd run this much? "I don't want to hear anything about unfair!"

"I did not!"

"You did!"

Mintly was out of breath as she neared the top. She slowed a little, keeping her pace at a trot and turned her head back to see where Ingrid was.

A deep growl cut through the air. Another howl followed closely behind. 

Mintly returned her gaze to the front just in time to see a beast - no,  _ three _ beasts rise up in front of her. They towered above her on their hind legs. She crashed into the frontmost one's chest, crumbling to the ground. Mintly immediately skittered backwards. Her hands landed plainly on scattered stones.

The creatures stood easily seven feet tall, their broad shoulders adding to their impressive frame - Mintly had barely escaped their shadows. Their canine jaws clacked as they peered down at her, dripping blood that pooled at their feet. Their fur was matted with gore, and their armor shiny and wet. Mintly watched them sway back and forth and they leered down at her, almost as if they were unsteady on their feet. Her heart thundered in her chest.  _ This is a lot more than harpies. _

Ingrid skidded to a stop when she heard the howls. She caught sight of the beasts - the gnolls, no doubt - before she saw Mintly. She was on the ground, easily within swiping distance for the beasts. The remains of the gnolls' previous meal was strewn across the ground, splattered high on the rocks behind them. Ingrid swallowed hard. Worse more, the gnolls had devoted their attention to Mintly and Mintly alone.

Ingrid drew her rapier, twisting the hilt in her sweaty palm, and charged.

Mintly's breath was caught in her throat. Her fear twisted and churned in her chest, and the Gods awful smell that filled the air was making her nauseous. She willed herself to back up, to  _ get _ up, but everything felt sluggish and slow. Her mind was swimming.

One of the beasts grumbled. It reached to its side to grab a sword that was easily as long as Mintly was tall. The blade was still slick with blood.

The other dropped to all fours, dug its nails into the dirt, and pounced.

Further back along the path, Barthen chuckled. "And here I thought all wizards were simply rash by nature."

"No, no. I can promise you I am as thoughtful as I am skillful. Magic does not reward the foolhardy, I can tell you that." Gale brushed a piece of hair back behind his ear. "It responds better to a calm hand than a quick one."

"Clearly Mintly doesn't agree with you," Wyll said with a smile. "Ingrid I can understand. Us warlocks are at the whims of our patrons and I can see her having a wily one. I think our tiefling is just eager."

Astarion clicked his tongue. "Over eager, you mean. This rushing in to save them is getting tiresome. We already have these parasites to deal with."

"They lack discipline," Lae'zel agreed. 

Shadowheart said, "Perhaps we should be more careful who we travel with."

"They're skilled fighters," Barthen replied quickly. He found himself feeling suddenly protective. "They get themselves into trouble, yes, but it's not as if they're useless. And I hardly doubt they-"

A howl pierced the air and everyone froze.

Barthen instinctively reached for his sword. The sound had come from in front, further down the path. Right where Mintly and Ingrid had dashed off to. He hissed under his breath. "You have got to be kidding me."

Mintly saw the pounce and reacted in the only way she could. She drew her hands up over her face and braced for impact. She held her breath and waited. Where she expected pain, however, she instead felt the warm rush of magic... but she hadn't cast anything. She dropped her hands to see an orb of red and purple swirling about her, conveniently blocking the beast from reaching her. "What the hell?"

Ingrid had just reached the first gnoll and plunged her rapier into its side. She twisted under its arm, leaving a wide gash that spilled blood and innards onto the dirt. She looked up and saw the glowing orb, worry striking her until she saw Mintly nestled inside. "You couldn't have done that earlier?"

“I don’t even know how I’m doing it now!” Mintly shouted. She saw the gnoll begin to pace, moving to circle her. Having not a clue when this bubble would burst, Mintly pushed herself to her feet and backed up against the boulder seated behind her. She held her hands out in front of her, feeling the chill of a frost spell tingle at the ends of her fingertips. The magic blasted forwards, easily slipping through the bubble and striking the gnoll in the chest.

The gnoll Ingrid had struck was curled up on the ground, minutes from death. Ingrid backed away from it, eyes catching the two others that had scampered to take up higher positions around them. She shot a blast in the direction of the one climbing up the cliffside and missed. Ingrid swore.

Barthen made it to the end of the path just as Ingrid’s spell exploded against the rock. He shielded his eyes from the blast of light. His assessment of the scene was quick - four gnolls, one dead. Two had moved near Mintly to the left. One was still crawling up the rocks Ingrid had shot at. He opened his mouth, but was cut short by the  _ twang _ of a fired arrow.

The gnoll that had been just about to reach the top of the cliff suddenly howled, its massive paw springing back from the rock like it had been burned. It fell loudly to the ground.

Astarion chuckled to himself. He skillfully slid his bow back across his chest and drew his rapier. “Can’t be having that now, can we?”

Barthen rolled his eyes, drawing his own sword and making a beeline for the two gnolls that had taken up a place around Mintly - who was suspiciously surrounded by a glowing orb. He’d never seen magic like it before and, by the way Mintly was still avoiding the movements of the gnolls, it seemed she wasn’t all too clear on it either.

He swung his blade into the gnoll that stood the closest to Mintly's orb. The beast tumbled to the ground and Barthen struck another blow into its ribs. It wasn't a wise decision - the bone made it difficult to puncture far and before Barthen could press it, the gnoll had rolled back and out of reach.

Mintly watched the gnoll retreat backwards and had been about to fling a good bit of fire its way when Lae'zel got there first.

She moved much faster than Mintly would have ever expected her to, nearly flying through the air to slice her blade deep into the gnoll's shoulder. She pressed and pressed and pressed until the gnoll's snarls turned to screams and its arm hung only by a thread. Her face and body were splattered with blood. Lae'zel only relented when the gnoll's whimpers faded and its twitching stopped. She withdrew her blade and wiped at the blood on her face, smearing it across her cheeks. She looked up and caught Mintly's gaze, giving a triumphant smirk.

Mintly shivered. She averted her eyes, looking instead to Ingrid and Gale who hovered around the final dead gnoll. 

“What a surprise our resident troublemakers have gotten themselves into another tiff.” Astarion was sliding his blade back into its spot at his side. He crossed his arms. “Four harpies, four gnolls, what next?”

“We were handling it,” Ingrid snapped. “We were handling it  _ just _ fine.”

Mintly, still encapsulated by her orb, waved her arms about herself in an attempt to dispel it. She couldn’t feel any magic essence to it. It didn’t react to her movements or her words and the longer she tried, the more unsettled she became. 

Wyll hovered over one of the bodies. He crouched down. “What are gnolls doing here?”

“Does it matter?” Lae’zel asked. 

“It does,” Wyll said. He lifted one of the gnoll’s arms, inspecting the armor. “They typically don’t come this far down. Something must’ve drawn them here.”

Shadowheart made a noise of annoyance. “I thought we were looking for a witch, not investigating the odd location of some... disgusting hyena hybrids.”

“Maybe we can catch two frogs with one lily,” Wyll replied. He grabbed at something on the gnoll’s chest and yanked it from its place, holding it up like a trophy. “Behold!”

At the exact moment Wyll said that, Mintly did... something that the orb reacted to. In fact, more than just the orb, a swath of tentacles burst from the ground in a flurry, accompanied by a loud ripping sound. They were the same reddish purple color and flailed about the orb - seeming to mimic Mintly’s hand movements. She could feel, somewhere deep in her skull, the tadpole writhe and wiggle. Frightened, she slammed her hands down to her sides and the entire image vanished in an instant. 

There was a long bout of silence. Mintly could feel eyes boring into her and she wanted to crawl into her skin.

It was Ingrid that spoke first. “What the fuck was  _ that?” _

Mintly shrugged stupidly.

"I was wondering about the orb," Gale said, filling the silence. "It wasn't like any spell that I'd ever seen. Typically deflection spells don't manifest in that color."

Mintly fidgeted. "I... don't think it was a spell."

Barthen felt an inkling of dread pool into his stomach. Whether from the look on Mintly's face or his own growing understanding of their situation - or perhaps a little of both - Barthen was beginning to feel the pressure of time. "You're thinking the tadpole."

"I'm not sure," Mintly replied. "But even if it wasn't, he was sure happy about it."

Lae'zel clicked her tongue loudly. "We are running out of time. The longer we are with this in our heads the closer we are to becoming abominations ourselves. Had we focused on finding a creche we wouldn't be in this position."

"There's no guarantee with the creche either," Barthen said, though his words weren't entirely true. 

"There is far more guaranteed with my people, who have been in conflict with the ghaik for longer than your people have been sentient, than a wild goose chase for a witch who likely will curse us sooner than cure us." Lae'zel leaned forwards. "I refuse to become one of those beasts. And should any of you succumb to it, I will take it upon myself to cut your throats."

"Could you decapitate me instead?" Astarion mused, turning his hands over to inspect his nails. "Hell, just slice my throat with that greatsword of yours, that should do the trick."

Shadowheart deadpanned, "Could you do that right now?"

Astarion made a gesture of mock offense. "And here I thought we were becoming good friends."

"Enough." Barthen raised his hands above his head, trying to catch everyone's attention. "Lae'zel is right. We shouldn't stand here arguing. Wyll, what did you find?"

Wyll, who seemed to have forgotten he'd found anything at all, paused. "Oh, yeah!" He held up the necklace he'd pulled from the gnoll. "It's a charm!"

"That looks like a bunch of ears on a string," Ingrid said. She moved in closer to get a better look. The ears were clearly from different hands, ranging in skin colors and species. She balked. "Gross."

"Yes, they are ears on a string. But it's also an old witch's charm. It's a way for them to communicate with beings over short distances."

"Are letters now too mundane for witches?" Shadowheart asked. "For all their magic they still use such disgustingly archaic means as this."

Wyll shook his head. "You can't exactly write a letter to a gnoll." He stood, still gripping the necklace in his hand. "And besides, letters don't include the mind control bonus feature."

"Ah, so that's where that is coming from!" Gale poked at one of the ears, and then nodded. "It's incredibly subtle. But this is little more than suggestion magic, rather than full blown mind control."

Lae'zel loudly groaned. "Does this mean we have a direction or not?"

"Yes," Wyll replied. "And no. She has to be somewhere near for these charms to take effect. But that doesn't mean we can exactly pinpoint her either."

"Great," Ingrid said. She turned to look at Mintly, who she noticed still seemed unnerved. “Mintly and I could go-”

“Absolutely not.” Barthen made a point to move and stand between Ingrid and Mintly. He held his hands up, palms facing them both. “One of you is a magnet for trouble. Two is a beacon. I cannot, on good conscience let you both travel together, Gods forbid alone.”

Ingrid crossed her arms. “Come on, Barty, don’t be such a stick in the mud.”

“Stick in the mud? Twice now you two have walked directly into danger!”

“And everything turned out fine!”

“Because the rest of the group was here to save your asses! Can you imagine if-”

“Then we split into two groups of four,” Shadowheart loudly interrupted. She pointed to Gale, “We’ll keep a mage in each party so they can communicate, or however you wizards do that. Lae’zel can take up with Barthen and Ingrid. I will go with Astarion, Wyll, and Mintly. Each group has someone to heal, someone to fight, a wizard, and a warlock.”

Lae’zel turned her nose up. “You assume my obedience.”

“I  _ assume _ you want to get out of this alive and not as a mindless squid slave,” Shadowheart spit. “Now we go and meet back up here if neither of us find anything in an hour.” And with that, she started up the leftmost path.

The group exchanged looks of confusion. There was a moment’s pause before Barthen nodded and started up to the right. He waved to Ingrid to follow.

Mintly stared after Shadowheart. She turned to look at Ingrid and Barthen, but saw that they had already left. Gathering her wits, she hopped to catch up and fell into line beside Wyll. He gave her a small smile. 

“Try not to attract any trouble this time, you hear?”

“Ahh,” Mintly started, “no promises.”


End file.
